


There Are No Wolves In California

by kitsunequeen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Scott, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Full Shift Werewolves, Getting Together, Humor, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, injured derek, stiles is not an evil hunter, the opposite of meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunequeen/pseuds/kitsunequeen
Summary: Hunter!Stiles accidentally hits a wolf with his car and can't bear to leave him in the road to die. It's not till he gets the wolf home that he sees its eyes glow red...-------Even everyday roadkill is upsetting, but this thing… Moments ago it was probably a majestic beast, and now it’s a mangled pile of soon-to-be rotting flesh. He presses a shaking hand to the only part of its chest left intact, not even thinking about whether it'll give him rabies or some other awful disease.He’s about to pull back when something even crazier happens.He realizes the wolf isbreathing.





	There Are No Wolves In California

**Author's Note:**

> *Changed the title from Not Exactly An Indoor Pet to There Are No Wolves In California.

“I think you’ve made a mistake,” Stiles sighs. He has his phone pressed uncomfortably between his ear and shoulder as he drives, since a damn spirit fucked up the Bluetooth in his car last month. “I’m not that kind of hunter.”

 

“Well what _do_ you hunt?”

 

Stiles has the feeling the old woman on the other end of the line will not find ‘supernatural creatures’ to be an acceptable answer.

 

“Bears,” he lies, getting on the exit ramp.

 

“Wolves aren’t so different! They’re all big animals with a lot of teeth, and they all terrorize people.”

 

“Wolves can’t be terrorizing you,” Stiles says, with as much patience as he can muster. When he told his dad he was a hunter, and neglected to tell him what _kind_ , he didn’t expect him to go around mentioning it to random people in the neighborhood. He just got back from a month-long trip to smoke out a nest of vampires in New York, and all he wants is to go home and fucking _sleep_. “There haven’t been wolves in California for sixty years.”

 

“Fine,” the woman snaps. “But I’ll be writing you a very bad review!”

 

Stiles doesn’t bother telling her that he doesn’t exactly have a Yelp page.

 

“Sorry I couldn’t help you, ma’am.”

 

She harrumphs and hangs up the phone, and Stiles allows his own to fall into his lap.

 

He shakes his head.

 

A pack of _wolves_ in California.

 

Some people really are delusional.

 

He’s the only one on the road now, since it’s dark and he’s all the way out by the preserve. It’s a long, straight path, so he takes his eyes off it for two seconds to grab the phone before it slides under his gas pedal or something.

 

His jaw drops the moment he looks back up.

 

An enormous black beast is dashing across his path, right in front of his car. He grabs the wheel with both hands and veers left as hard as he can, but the creature apparently planned to outrun him, because it doesn’t stop. He screams in horror as he smashes right into it, but it doesn’t drown out the sickening crunch of bones as he runs the thing over.

 

His back tires get it too as he slams the brakes, and the second the Jeep skids to a stop—without crashing into any trees, thankfully—he hops out, running the fifty feet back to the mass of blood and fur.

 

Fuck.

 

_Fuck._

Stiles may need to call the old lady back to apologize, because this thing is unmistakably a wolf. An enormous, hulking one, but a wolf nonetheless. He’s never seen one in person before, but it doesn’t take a genius to tell this thing is dead. It’s lying in a pool of its own blood, at least one leg broken and ribs completely caved in. Stiles feels sick looking at it. As a hunter, of course he’s dealt with much more grisly sights than this, but he’s always had a soft spot for animals.

 

Even everyday roadkill is upsetting, but this thing… Moments ago it was probably a majestic beast, and now it’s a mangled pile of soon-to-be rotting flesh. He presses a shaking hand to the only part of its chest left intact, not even thinking about whether this thing will give him rabies or some other awful disease.

 

He’s about to pull back when something even crazier happens.

 

He realizes the wolf is _breathing._

 

He yanks his hand away, sure he must be imagining it.

 

There’s no doubt its lungs are smashed beyond repair. His trembling hands must’ve must made it _seem_ like the thing was moving. He stretches his fingers, cracks his knuckles, tries to get ahold of himself. When he manages to still his hands, he carefully sets them back on the wolf.

 

Fucking. Hell.

 

It’s breathing. It’s moving. This thing is _alive_. But not for long, because holy _shit_ , it should qualify as a zombie at this point.

 

“Stay here,” he orders needlessly, scrambling to his feet. He runs back to the car to grab his phone, the thing that _started_ all this mess. He tries to unlock it with his fingerprint, but ends up smearing the button in blood. He wants to retch as he wipes his hand on his shirt before trying again. He somehow manages to keep it together as he dials, but God, he’s going to puke. The phone rings six times before, blessedly, it’s picked up. “Scott? Scotty, I need- I need you.”

 

“Stiles?” Scott says. He sounds sleepy, but worry colors his tone. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

 

“Where are you?”

 

“Allison’s house,” he says. Stiles can hear her voice in the background now, asking what’s the matter. “Where are _you_?”

 

“By the preserve. I just- _fuck_ , I just crashed my car.”

 

“Oh, shit. Are you alright? Did you call your dad?”

 

“What?” Vaguely, he realizes he’s starting to shake again. “What? No, I- I’m fine. I’m okay. But a wolf ran into my path. He’s fucking _huge_ , but I ran him over.”

 

“Oh,” Scott breathes, relieved. “Thank God you’re not hurt.”

 

“Yes, I’m _fine_ , but I fucking _mangled_ this thing.”

 

“The car, or the animal?”

 

“The- the animal. He’s a wolf.”

 

“There aren’t any wolves in California, it must be a big dog. Which isn’t any better, but…”

 

“Not a dog,” Stiles insists. He sends a big _fuck you_ out to the universe for its wonderful sense of irony. “Can you just- just _come_ , please. I need help.”

 

“I’m putting on my shoes right now,” Scott says. “Is it still alive?”

 

“I don’t-” He takes a harsh breath and glances back at it. The pool of blood around it has gotten impossibly bigger. “I thought I felt it breathing, but- I don’t know. It should be dead. Very, _very_ dead. Please come help. Call Deaton, or-”

 

“Deaton’s on vacation, remember?” Stiles can hear the sound of Allison’s front door slamming.  “The clinic is under construction. I can’t even get in.”

 

Right. Oh, shit.

 

“You have to do something,” Stiles insists. “Please, just- Help me.”

 

“I will,” Scott promises. His bike’s engine revs loudly. “I’m coming right now. What part of the preserve are you by?”

 

“Main road. On the way to my house. Maybe a mile away? Trust me, you’ll see us.”

 

“Okay,” Scott says. “I have to hang up now. It’ll be fine, Stiles, okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, glancing at the battered wolf again. His stomach stirs unpleasantly. “I- Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles hears Scott before he sees him, and glances up from where he’s kneeling in front of the wolf. He’s probably lucky that Scott doesn’t run _them_ over, but he knew he was getting close to Stiles’ house, and no one else really comes down such a dark road at night. The only light is a blinding yellow from Stiles’ headlights, casting everything in an eerie glow.

 

Scott stops his bike next to the Jeep and hops off before hurrying over to Stiles.

 

He crouches down next to him, face twisting in pity and disgust as he looks at the wolf.

 

“You think this thing is _alive?_ ”

 

“I don’t _know_. Can’t you use your hearing to check?”

 

Scott looks down at it doubtfully, but he shrugs. Scott being bitten by a rogue, feral werewolf is the reason Stiles went into hunting in the first place, but sometimes his powers come in handy.

 

He leans in, getting uncomfortably close to it.

 

“Oh, shit,” he says, jolting back after a moment. “It _is_ alive. Oh my God.”

 

“Oh my God,” Stiles echoes. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or horrified. “What can we do?”

 

Scott shakes his head.

 

“Dude, I’m really sorry, but… nothing. This guy is a goner.”

 

“But he’s alive!”

 

“Do you _see_ him?”

 

“He’s hanging on, Scott. He’s still here almost an hour later, isn’t he?”

 

“But he _shouldn’t_ be. I don’t even know how that’s possible.”

 

“Well what can we _do_? Are there any animal hospitals around here? Deaton must know someone, no?”

 

“Stiles,” Scott says, looking pained. “I’m sorry, man, but _anywhere_ you take this thing won’t even believe it’s alive, and if they do, they’re 100% going to put him to sleep.”

 

Bile burns at the back of Stiles’ throat.

 

“I’m not just going to _leave_ him here.”

 

“Stiles, I’m really sorry, I know it’s awful, but he’s as good as dead.” He unsheathes his claws, setting his hand gently on the wolf’s throat. “Why don’t you get back in the car? Let me put him out of his misery, and then I’ll drive you home. I’ll even take you back to Allison’s with me so you don’t have to be alone. I know you’re tired from all the driving, and this was jarring, and-”

 

“No,” Stiles snaps, grabbing Scott’s wrist and pulling him away. “Help me put him in the Jeep.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“Help me,” Stiles says, moving to the wolf’s hindquarters. “Or I’ll do it myself.”

 

“No,” Scott says, batting Stiles’ hands away. “Are you _trying_ to catch a disease?”

 

“Scott.”

 

“What the hell are you going to do with him?”

 

“Take him home. See if I can help him.”

 

“Stiles, he’s-”

 

“Fine,” Stiles says evenly, starting to shove his hands back under the prone wolf.

 

“No,” Scott huffs, pushing him away again. “I’ll get him. Get your butt in the car. Call Allison and tell her I’ll be home late.”

 

Stiles smiles gratefully, knowing he totally ruined Scott’s sexy night in, but feeling like something went right for the first time all day.

 

“Thanks, man.”

 

Scott shakes his head, but manages to muster a smile in return.

 

* * *

 

“That thing must be at _least_ two hundred pounds,” Scott says, once he’s finished loading his motorcycle in the backseat, and the wolf in the trunk. “Drive slow, there was no way to secure him back there.”

 

“Roger that,” Stiles says. “Don’t think I’ll be doing much fast driving after that little incident, anyway.”

 

“Were you speeding?”

 

“Was reaching for my phone, but I was the only one on the road. Deer don’t cross here, and I definitely wasn’t expecting a _wolf_ to run in my path. I tried to swerve out of his way, but he just kept going.”

 

“Shit,” Scott mutters. “Well I’m glad you’re alright. I was terrified when you said you got in an accident.”

 

“I know,” Stiles sighs. “I hope this guy turns out okay, too.”

 

Scott is apparently deciding to humor him now, because he says, “So do I, man.”

 

* * *

 

“Alright, maybe you should’ve decided where you wanted him _before_ you had me pick him up,” Scott says, staggering under the weight of the wolf and the effort to keep his guts from spilling out.

 

“Uh… Dammit, I don’t know,” Stiles says. “Bring him inside.”

 

“You want this thing _in your house_?”

 

“Well I’m not going to leave him outside! Something might try to eat him.”

 

“Because it’ll think he’s a carcass,” Scott mutters, but he’s being a decidedly good sport considering what Stiles has put him through tonight. “Once we get him settled, I’m taking you down to the hospital so my mom can give you, like, fifty shots. You can’t just _touch_ roadkill.”

 

“Not roadkill,” Stiles says, unlocking his front door. Once Scott enters, he kicks the line of mountain ash back into place as always. “Not yet.”

 

“Let’s bring him to the basement,” Scott says, heading that way. “I don’t think he’s exactly an _upstairs pet_.”

 

“Ha, ha,” Stiles says, opening the door and flicking on the light for him. “Come on, put him down on the rug. I’ll toss it after, since you’re so worried about contaminating everything.”

 

“Silly me for being worried about a little thing called rabies.”

 

“Allison hasn’t caught it from you yet,” Stiles teases, and Scott gives him a look.

 

“I seem to recall I’m doing you a _favor_ ,” he says, setting the wolf down gently. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

 

“Sorry, sorry. Thanks man, seriously. I feel a lot better now.”

 

“Most people wouldn’t feel _better_ with this thing in their house. I mean… I’m gonna be a vet, and I still think this is an awful idea.”

 

“Ah, but you’re also a good person,” Stiles says, sitting down cross-legged in front of the wolf. He heaves a sigh. “So, uh… This dude still with us?”

 

Scott focuses his hearing again, and nods.

 

“I don’t know _how_ , but he’s a real trooper.”

 

“Good,” Stiles says. “Uh… Not to be… the _worst_ , most _inconsiderate_ person in the world, but would you maybe take a little of his pain?”

 

“Why not?” Scott says, clearly resigned to helping take care of the beast at this point. He sets a hand between its ears, petting a little as black lines start to trace up his arm. “Ah, _shit_.”

 

Stiles grimaces.

 

“Is it bad?”

 

“He’s not exactly in good shape,” Scott says, but he doesn’t stop. Stiles really, really loves him. “Why don’t we-”

 

His eyes widen almost comically, and Stiles scrambles to his feet when he sees why.

 

“Scott, get back,” he says, grabbing a gun from the holster on his wall.

 

He clicks the safety off and keeps one eye on the wolf as he double-checks there are bullets loaded. Wolfsbane bullets. Because this thing’s eyes just glowed red.

 

* * *

 

“Well, he’s awake,” Scott says, dropping his fangs and unsheathing his claws as he backs to an opposite corner of the room as Stiles. “You ever seen one that can do a full shift like that?”

 

“I’ve heard of it,” Stiles says slowly, keeping his gun trained directly on the wolf’s head. “Didn’t know if it was just lore. Kind of thought _you_ were the only alpha in Beacon Hills.”

 

Stiles may be one of the few hunters with morals and a code, but a good number of werewolves, at least the ones he’s encountered, are feral or just plain murderous.

 

“So did I,” Scott says.

 

He lets his eyes bleed red too, and starts to slowly stalk back towards the wolf.

 

“Get back here,” Stiles hisses.

 

“Stiles, you _ran him over_. I don’t think he’s going anywhere.” To the wolf, he adds, “But do you see us, man? You make a wrong move, _we_ won’t be the ones who end up dead.”

 

That’s a relatively empty threat coming from Scott—he’s never killed anyone, and Stiles _highly_ doubts he ever will. However, he knows _Stiles_ has killed… well, his fair share of creatures, and this guy could easily be next if he tries something. If he wasn’t just a dumb animal, why the fuck did he run in front of Stiles’ car? Hell, the guy could’ve been sent here to kill him, for all he knows. He wracks his brain for the last time he had to take out a pack. It was a bloodthirsty group in Colorado, five alphas who were viciously killing children up in the mountains, but he thought he’d managed to wipe all of them out.

 

Stiles takes a step forward too, not dropping his gun for a second.

 

“These are wolfsbane bullets, buddy. You don’t want to fuck with me, understand?”

 

He and Scott start closing in on the werewolf, and Stiles can’t decide if he’s imagining the struggle in its eyes. Finally, when the two of them are only a few steps away, the thing seems to make a decision. He whines high in his throat and stretches his neck out the little bit he can in this condition, submitting to Scott.

 

Scott breathes a sigh of relief, and waves for Stiles to put his gun down. Stiles lowers it a little, but he has a lot more experience in situations like these, and he’s definitely not getting rid of it just yet.

 

“Why couldn’t you smell he was a werewolf?” he asks, staring down at it.

 

“I don’t know,” Scott says cautiously. “I _still_ can’t smell it. Could it be something else? A… hellhound, maybe?”

 

“Nah,” Stiles says. “They’re invisible unless you _seriously_ fucked up. He’s gotta be a full-shift wolf, or some creature I’ve never seen.”

 

“Maybe they smell different in this form,” Scott suggests. “Or maybe he’s… figured out some way to cover his scent? I don’t know.”

 

“Hmm.” Addressing the wolf now, Stiles says, “Hey. Can you talk in this form?”

 

It shakes its head minutely, a very human gesture.

 

“He’s a werewolf alright,” he mutters.

 

“Maybe he’s friendly,” Scott offers. “I know in your line of work you expect the worst, but… He could just be a regular guy, you know. I mean, you felt really bad for him a minute ago.”

 

Not exactly surprising that Scott is sympathetic to the werewolf. And hey, Stiles has nothing inherently against them. He’s not Allison’s grandfather or something. There are supposedly plenty of good packs out there. But there’s something _suspicious_ about this one running right into a hunter’s car, especially the first time he’s been around in weeks. And right by his house, too. What was the wolf doing out here?

 

“I’m gonna make you a deal,” Stiles says, finally sitting back down near it. Not close enough that it can hurt him, but almost as close as before. “My friend—Scott, that is, and I’m Stiles—is going to go back to taking your pain. If you’re a good dude, I’m very sorry about hitting you with my car. If you’re not… Well.” His voice is low and rough, now. The one he uses when dealing with all kinds of supernatural baddies. “I’m gonna ask you some yes or no questions. You’re gonna nod or shake your head. You can manage that much movement in this state, right?” The thing dips its head once in a small nod. “Great. You tell us the truth, we have no problems. We’ll help you out, try to get you back on your feet, sort this mess out. You lie? Scott’s gonna hear. And it’s not going to end well for you. Got it?”

 

The wolf whines, does its little nod thing again. Part of Stiles, the part that can’t believe he hit this guy with his car, still feels really bad. But the work side, the hunter side, is ready to kill this thing if it was planning to kill him.

 

“Great. You from around here?”

 

The wolf shakes his head. It’s barely a jerk, he’s clearly in pain.

 

Scott does what Stiles said and sits down behind him, taking his pain again. The wolf whimpers in relief as black lines start racing up Scott’s arm. Again, Stiles is hit with a wave of guilt.

 

“Are you a werewolf?”

 

A nod.

 

“You from California?”

 

 _Yes_.

 

“You under… thirty?”

 

 _Yes_.

 

“But you’re not a kid, a teenager, are you? I don’t know how this shifting thing works, but you’re enormous.”

 

_No._

 

“Good. I’m twenty-seven. But maybe you already knew that. Did you know who I was when you ran in front of my car?”

 

_No. No, no, no._

“Okay,” Scott says gently, stroking his ears for a second. He’s kind of killing Stiles’ tough guy vibe. “We get it.”

 

“He still telling the truth?”

 

“So far.”

 

“Smart man,” Stiles says. “Tell me, did you run in front of my car on purpose?”

 

_No._

“Did you know I was a hunter?”

 

 _No_.

 

“Were you trying to hurt anyone?”

 

_No._

 

“Do you have a pack?”

 

The wolf hesitates.

 

“He smells panicked,” Scott says quietly. He looks it, too. His eyes are darting all around as though he could _possibly_ run anywhere in this condition. “We’re not going to hurt them unless they hurt us, man. Promise. I’m a werewolf, right? Stiles hasn’t killed me yet.”

 

The wolf stills, glances back at Stiles.

 

Slowly, he gives one of his little nods.

 

“Okay,” Stiles says, trying to sound a bit less harsh. So far, the guy has been cooperating, and he hasn’t shown any signs he was trying to hurt Stiles. “Are they around here?”

 

He hesitates again, but there’s nothing for him to do but answer.

 

 _Yes_.

 

“Are any of _them_ trying to hurt me, or did any of them know I was a hunter?”

 

 _No_.

 

“Any kids in the pack?”

 

 _No_.

 

“More than five of you altogether?”

 

 _No_.

 

“You the only alpha?” The wolf seems almost confused, and Stiles adds, “You’d be surprised at the shit I’ve seen.”

 

 _Yes_.

 

“And neither you nor your pack did or do intend to hurt me, my friends, my family, or anyone else?”

 

The wolf blinks a few times.

 

“Uh, I think he’s confused with the ‘neither/nor’ shit, dude,” Scott says. “He just woke up.”

 

“Did or do you or anyone you know want to hurt me or anyone I know?”

 

_No._

 

Stiles heaves a heavy sigh.

 

“Then I’m an asshole,” he says, reaching out to gently pat the wolf’s flank. He tries to ignore the matted blood, and the fact that he caused it. “I’m sorry, man. You have to be super wiped out. I’m gonna get you something to eat and drink. Scotty is gonna stay here with you. I don’t know how long he can stand to take your pain for, but…”

 

“I’m managing,” Scott says, waving him off with his free hand. He gives the werewolf a strained smile. “He’s in much worse shape than I am. Go get him something.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles, if possible, feels even worse than before.

 

He didn’t mean to freak the guy out after he already caused him so much pain, but he has to be careful in his line of work. Better safe than sorry.

 

He’ll make sure to apologize to the man a lot more later, and see what he can do to get him healed. He wonders how long it’ll be before the guy is okay enough to shift back into his human form. Or if he even knows how.

 

He grabs two water bottles and a shallow bowl, but there’s not much in the fridge. He was just away from home for a month, after all, so it’s not like he has fresh meat for the guy or anything. Honestly, he’s not even sure if the wolf’s esophagus is intact enough for food at this point. He grabs a second bowl and heats up a can of soup, because at least it’s easy going down. He also gets the space heater from his bedroom, because the basement is chilly but a blanket would probably stick to the guy’s guts.

 

Which is just… horrifying.

 

When he opens the basement door he can hear Scott speaking quietly to the wolf, but he stops when he hears Stiles.

 

“Got some food?” he asks.

 

“Yup. Not sure if he’s in any state to eat it yet, but I’ll leave it out for him.”

 

“Great,” Scott says, as Stiles sets the bowls down right in front of the wolf’s face. He doesn’t move towards either of them right away. “I was just telling him how upset you were when you hit him earlier. He was flitting in and out of consciousness, but apparently he caught some of it. So he doesn’t think we’re _total_ monsters.”

 

“Good to know,” Stiles says, sitting back down. “And good to know you’re not one, either. I really am sorry for hitting you. I was… Well. I guess you can tell how upset I was by the fact that I lugged your seemingly dead self all the way here. Or, uh, at least that I made Scott do it.”

 

The wolf makes a little huffing noise with his nose, and Stiles has no clue what it means.

 

“He’s healing already,” Scott says, nodding at his crushed midsection. It still looks horrible, and there’s blood all over his fur and Stiles’ carpet, but his skin _does_ seem to be knitting very slowly back together. Stiles hopes the organs are doing the same, and that the bones will be able to realign themselves, because he has no idea how to help him with that. “So that’s good.”

 

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief.

 

“Very good. Hopefully he’ll be able to shift back after that.”

 

The wolf chuffs again.

 

“Dunno what that means, dude,” Stiles says, reaching out very cautiously to scratch one of his ears. Surprisingly, the wolf burrows his face into Stiles’ hand. Werewolves are tactile by nature, but this one must be _really_ desperate for some comfort. “But hopefully it’s _yes, I will, and also I forgive you for accidentally running me over, and no, I’m not mad that you were a total dick, and we are super cool now._ ”

 

The wolf shakes his head a little, but doesn’t pull away, so Stiles will take it.

 

* * *

 

“Now, it’s not that we don’t trust you,” Stiles says, sealing the basement off with mountain ash. “This is for everyone’s good, okay?”

 

The werewolf doesn’t look happy, but he can’t exactly object. He’s healing surprisingly well, but then again, he _is_ an alpha. Stiles feels it’s safe to finally send Scott home and get some rest by four in the morning, after Scott made him promise fifty times to call if he needed anything.

 

“Now, if something is wrong, you howl, alright? I don’t want you dying down here.”

 

The wolf shuts his eyes, and Stiles shrugs.

 

“Alright man. Get some good sleep. Hopefully you’re feeling better by the morning.”

 

He heads upstairs, but leaves the basement door open and decides to sleep on the living room couch instead of in his bed so he’ll definitely hear if the guy is distressed.

 

Unfortunately, as wiped out as Stiles is, and as hard as he tries to get some shut-eye, it’s _really_ difficult to fall asleep. He still feels the residual guilt from hitting what he thought was a wolf, and now he feels even worse considering it was not only actually a man, but a scared, injured man he had to interrogate. He feels relatively confident that the guy isn’t a threat now, though, and vows to run to the store early and make him some awesome breakfast if his stomach is healed by morning. Normally he’d never let a supernatural creature besides Scott stay in his house, it goes against his very nature, but something about this guy makes Stiles want to help him. And it’s not just because he freaking ran him over.

 

He's finally, finally almost asleep when the doorbell rings. And really, who the actual fuck is ringing his bell at this time in the morning? He lives all alone out by the preserve, the only house for miles, so no one should even _be_ here.

 

He rolls off the couch and lumbers over to the door, wiping the sleep out of his eyes before he opens it.

 

There are three people standing outside, all around his age. They look exhausted, and Stiles _really_ wishes they were home in bed instead of standing at his front door.

 

“What do you want?” he asks, failing to stifle a huge yawn.

 

“We lost our dog,” one of the guys says. He’s tall with light brown curls, while the other guy is black and muscular. Between them stands a blonde who looks far too good considering what time it is. “Have you seen him?”

 

“A dog, huh?”

 

“Mhm,” the other guy says. “Have you seen one around here?”

 

“What did he look like?”

 

“What, you see a lot of stray dogs?” asks the first.

 

“Listen,” Stiles says. This must be the wolf’s pack, but he’s not taking any chances. They could be enemies, too. Maybe he was in such a hurry because he was running from something? “It’s five in the fucking morning, so if you’re going to be a dick, I’m going back to bed.”

 

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” the girl says. “In fact-”

 

She starts forward, like she’s going to storm into Stiles’ house, but she smashes right into the mountain ash barrier. It takes a _lot_ to keep from laughing, but he has to keep up his unaffected persona.

 

“More werewolves, then?” he says coolly. “Gosh, can’t a guy catch a break?”

 

“We’re not- we’re not _werewolves_ ,” the blonde splutters, clearly flustered and embarrassed. “Werewolves aren’t real.”

 

“Well, you either just got stopped by my salt barrier, or my mountain ash one, and for your sake you better _hope_ you’re not demons. Now why don’t you tell me your names, and your _dog’s_ name, and we’ll see what I can do for you.”

 

“Erica,” the blonde mutters, defeated. Pointing at each guy in turn, she adds, “Isaac, and Boyd.”

 

“And the alpha sitting in my basement?”

 

She bites her lip.

 

“Derek.”

 

Ah, so he can finally put a name to the face.

 

Er… The snout?

 

“And you’re related to him… how?”

 

“We’re his betas,” Boyd says. “Can we please just see him? Whatever you’re doing… We smelled blood. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

Stiles has to squash down his shame.

 

“Wait here,” he says, unnecessarily shutting the door.

 

He heads down to the basement and stands over Derek. He nudges him with his foot, not wanting to get _too_ close without a weapon handy. Being startled awake could easily set an alpha off, and he’s not trying to lose any fingers.

 

Derek stirs, and slowly blinks his eyes open.

 

Stiles watches his face fall as he registers how much pain he’s in all over again, and his stomach twists.

 

“Hey man,” he says, voice soft. “Sorry to wake you, but you’ve got some visitors. They tell me your name is Derek.”

 

Derek’s eyes go wide, and he gives the most enthusiastic nod Stiles has seen yet.

 

“They say they’re Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. Blonde girl, black dude, and a curly-haired brunette? Claim they’re your betas? Do I get my gun, or let them in?”

 

Derek’s eyes widen and his tail twitches like it’s trying to wag, but isn’t quite in shape to do so. If it weren’t so depressing, it would be really cute. Stiles tries to imagine Scott with a wagging tail, but can’t.

 

“I’ll take that as _let them in_?”

 

_Yes._

 

“They’re not going to kill me for running you over, are they?”

 

 _No_.

 

“Spectacular,” Stiles says. “Be right back.”

 

He heads back upstairs, and God, he’s tired.

 

“Well?” Isaac says, as soon as he opens the door.

 

“He was tail-thumping happy to hear you were here,” Stiles mutters. “So I guess you can come on in. He’s in the basement.”

 

He jerks a thumb behind himself and kicks the mountain ash aside, setting it back as soon as they come in. They rush past him to the top of the stairs, but he has to push past to clear the next line of ash, too.

 

“Someone’s careful,” Isaac mutters as he thuds past him.

 

“Can’t be _too_ careful,” Stiles says, but he’s drowned out by horrified shouts of, “ _Derek_!”

 

“Right,” Stiles says, dragging a hand over his face as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. “Probably should’ve mentioned he’s practically cut in half.”

 

“What did you do to him?” Erica snarls, fangs coming out.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

“Kill me if you want, but have fun being trapped in this house for the rest of your lives. I have pretty much no food, no neighbors, and the ash goes all the way around, so.”

 

“Fine,” she snaps, letting them retract. “But what the _fuck_ did you do to him?”

 

“Hit him with my car,” Stiles sighs. “He ran right in front of it. I thought he was a real wolf and tried to swerve, but he kept going. Ran him over with front _and_ back tires. I called my friend who’s training to be a vet. He also happens to be an alpha. We brought Derek here home, where he woke up and flashed his eyes at us. Interrogated him, but he seemed harmless enough. Now he’s laying here healing. And then _you_ showed up, because my day hasn’t been long enough.”

 

“Shit,” Boyd says, sinking to the floor next to Derek. Erica and Isaac join him, and soon they’re all taking pain from different angles. “Is he going to be okay?”

 

“Looks like it,” Stiles says. “Uh… Well, maybe it doesn’t look like it. But he should be alright. When he is, you can take him out of here.”

 

“What?” Isaac demands. “We’re taking him _now_. We’re not just leaving him with- With what? A hunter?”

 

“Yup,” Stiles says. “But does it _look_ like I’m hunting him?”

 

“Looks like you did worse than that," Boyd mutters.

 

“ _He_ ran in front of _my_ car! Aren’t you guys supposed to have better senses than that?”

 

“Whatever, dude,” Isaac says. “We’re bringing him home.”

 

Stiles sighs.

 

“You know what? Cool. You do you. Take the whole rug with you, it’s got blood all over it anyway.”

 

It takes them a few minutes and a lot of pained yips and whimpers from Derek to carry him upstairs, suspended on the rug like it’s a stretcher, but they finally manage it. Part of Stiles feels like he should _profusely_ apologize to Derek, but the rest of him wants to be done with this, and he’s sure Derek does too. As soon as the betas are out the front door, Stiles sets up his mountain ash barrier one last time and heads to bed, ready to put this whole day behind him.

 

* * *

 

When Stiles wakes, his alarm clock says it’s 3:37 PM, and he _still_ doesn’t feel like he’s slept enough. But apparently, he hasn’t dealt with enough company recently, because someone is knocking on his door. He lumbers downstairs, ready to tell whoever it is to kindly fuck off because, no, he doesn’t want to switch religions, or yes, he is sure he doesn’t want to sell his home to the city as part of the preserve.

 

When he opens the door, though, there’s an _insanely_ hot man standing on the other side, and Stiles is willing to give him just about anything he wants.

 

Well, not like _that_.

 

But also maybe a little bit like that.

 

He’s an inch or two taller than Stiles, and much more muscular. Stiles’ work keeps him fit and lean, but this dude has muscles on his muscles, clearly defined in a soft-looking, burgundy Henley. He has black hair and just the right amount of stubble, and beautiful green eyes.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

_Direct you to the nearest gas station, or give you my first-born child, perhaps?_

“Uh,” the guy says, scratching at the back of his neck. Stiles notices that his sweater has little thumb holes in it, and no way should someone be allowed to be this hot _and_ this cute. “I’m Derek.”

 

“Oh,” Stiles says, eyes widening. “ _Oh_.”

 

And now that he’s watching for it, he can see how Derek is standing a little hunched over, like he isn’t _totally_ better yet, and how his hair is the same shade as the wolf from last night.

 

“Yeah,” Derek says, crossing his arms. He looks a little defensive. “I just wanted to say sorry for all the trouble.”

 

“ _You’re_ sorry? Dude, I fucking split you in half.”

 

Derek shrugs.

 

“You could’ve died too, swerving like you did.”

 

“Took my eyes off the road for a second, and wasn’t exactly expecting to see a wolf when I looked back. But speaking of irresponsible decisions, how did you end up in front of the only car for miles?”

 

“I was training with my pack. No cars ever drive down that road at night, and I wasn’t thinking.”

 

“Well that doesn’t sound like very good training,” Stiles says, before realizing how wildly insensitive that is. “Um. Sorry. Too early for a brain to mouth filter.”

 

Derek narrows his eyes, and Stiles is glad to be behind mountain ash.

 

“It’s three thirty.”

 

“Yeah, well _someone_ kept me up late last night.”

 

Which is kind of an unfair assessment of the situation, but it is true.

 

“You may not be a vicious hunter, but you _are_ kind of an asshole.”

 

“What can I say?” Stiles says, spreading his hands. “A character flaw.”

 

Derek shrugs and sticks his own hands in his pockets. If possible, he looks even cuter.

 

God _dammit_.

 

Why did Stiles have to run over the hottest guy in all of Beacon Hills?

 

“My sisters say I’m kind of an asshole too.”

 

“Well, I must say, you _were_ a pretty good sport about being run over. Which I am _very_ sorry about, if it’s worth anything to you. I may be a hunter, but I don’t go around torturing innocent werewolves. Not exactly my style.”

 

“I can tell,” Derek says, the tiniest smirk flickering across his face. “You weren’t very subtle about how horrified you were.”

 

“Yeah, well you should’ve _seen_ yourself. Speaking of, how are you doing?” he asks, frowning. “Healing up?”

 

“Slowly, yes. Things got a lot better once I was healthy enough to switch back to my human form. My wolf doesn’t heal nearly as fast—takes too much energy to be in a full shift. Now it’s clearing up.”

 

He lifts his shirt to reveal long, inflamed scars spanning his entire muscled torso.

 

Stiles sucks in a breath through his teeth.

 

“On one hand, I’m glad you’re healing, but on the other, _fuck_. How long do you think till all that fades?”

 

“Another few hours?” Derek says, letting his shirt fall back into his place. “Hopefully less.”

 

“On the bright side, you’ve got great abs,” Stiles jokes. Except it’s not really a joke, because _damn_. And also because Stiles left tire tracks in said abs yesterday. “Bet you can’t wait till they heal.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Derek deadpans. “I’m glad someone can see a bright side in all this.”

 

“The bright side would be that you’re still alive,” Stiles says reasonably. “The abs are just a bonus.”

 

“I seem to remember you being nicer last night.”

 

“Sarcasm is my only defense,” Stiles says, shrugging. “Either that, or I further contemplate the fact that I almost killed someone last night, which is… Nope.”

 

“You must kill people a lot,” Derek says, almost like a challenge. He doesn’t seem afraid, Stiles clearly showed his true colors last night, but he doesn’t seem too fond of Stiles’ profession. Which… Fair. “You’re a hunter.”

 

“Only if they deserve it,” Stiles says, feeling weirdly defensive. He’s not normally shy about the fact that he’s a hunter, but he doesn’t want Derek, who probably already has the lowest opinion in the world of him, to think he’s a bad guy. “There are some evil SOB’s out there, and I take them down if I have to. I like to look at it as doing the world a favor. My dad’s a sheriff, and it’s basically the same thing. This is just a bit more on the… vigilante side of justice.”

 

“Normally I wouldn’t trust a _hunter’s_ opinion on what qualifies as justice, but I guess you showed that you’re not evil. Why _are_ you a hunter, if you’re not some sadistic asshole? Thought it was part of the job description.”

 

“Not _always_ ,” Stiles says, thinking fondly of Allison. Then again, he has much less fond feelings for her family. Thank God _they_ all moved out of California. “Some rogue alpha bit Scott when he was a teenager and it kind of threw us both into the wonderful world of werewolves. Turned out his girlfriend’s family were hunters, and she and I both learned from them at first. They, though… _They_ are the kind of asshole hunters you’re thinking of. Especially the aunt. After seeing them torture a few creatures, I realized that no matter how upset I was for Scott, I didn’t want to be like _them_. They all eventually moved to France except Scotty’s girlfriend, Allison. It’s hard not to feel an obligation to hunting when you realize that so many awful, preventable things are happening all around you. So Allison and I are hunters, but we have a code. _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent se protéger_.”

 

“We protect those who cannot protect themselves,” Derek murmurs.

 

Stiles wishes he were a werewolf so he could figure out what the brief look that flashes across Derek’s face means.

 

“You speak French?”

 

“More werewolves in France than anywhere else in the world,” Derek says. “So you really don’t kill anyone who doesn’t deserve it?”

 

“Didn’t kill you, did I?”

 

“Surprisingly, no.”

 

“Is it really so shocking?”

 

“For a hunter it is.”

 

“Okay, fair,” Stiles admits. “But just like all werewolves aren’t crazed killers, neither are all hunters.”

 

“I kind of figured that out last night,” Derek sighs. “Besides, even if you didn’t make it obvious yourself, Scott was very adamant about defending you. When you went to get water, he spent the whole time, uh, _petting_ me, and assuring me that you didn’t want to hurt me. And you proved yourself anyway, otherwise I wouldn’t have shown up here.”

 

Good old Scott. He’s always had Stiles’ back.

 

“So that’s why you let me touch you after?”

 

“Sorry if it was weird,” Derek says, a self-deprecating look coming over his face. “I’m sure you know werewolves are tactile, and…” He shrugs. “Even more so in a full shift, and more than _that_ when we’re in pain.”

 

“It’s all good, man. It was probably weird of _us_ to start, like, petting you anyway…” Stiles says, biting his lip. “But I hope it made you feel a little better. Again, sorry about the whole… almost killing you thing.”

 

Surprisingly, Derek laughs.

 

“Hard to say it’s okay, but it was both our faults. You just as easily could’ve lost control of your car, swerving like that. We’re both probably idiots.”

 

“I can accept that,” Stiles says, reaching out a hand for Derek to shake. Derek smirks as he takes it. “So, you gonna be sticking around Beacon Hills?”

 

“If the resident hunters will allow it,” Derek says, but Stiles is pretty sure he’s kidding.

 

“Fine by us,” he says anyway. “So long as you promise to look both ways before crossing the street from now on.”

 

“Hilarious,” Derek says flatly. “We can work out a peace treaty soon, if you’d like a formal arrangement.”

 

“Oh, sure. Maybe I can take you to lunch and we can write one up.”

 

“Lunch?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Oh, not like- I didn’t mean, like- Not _lunch_ lunch. Just, like. Lunch. Like- You know. _Lunch_.”

 

Smooth, Stiles.

 

Really, really smooth.

 

He doesn’t know what to think when Derek huffs a laugh.

 

“While I appreciate the _vehement_ rejection, I didn’t think you were asking me out. I just meant it’s almost four o’clock. Dinner would be more appropriate.”

 

 _Oh_.

 

“Right. That’s… That makes more sense. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be a jerk, you’re obviously super hot, I just didn’t want you to think-”

 

“Super hot?”

 

“I mean-”

 

Stiles kind of wishes someone would come and run _him_ over.

 

“I’m messing with you, Stiles,” Derek laughs, ducking his head. It’s _painfully_ adorable. “Relax.”

 

“Oh,” Stiles breathes. “Oh. Wow, you _are_ kind of a dick.”

 

“I’m not the one who was _horrified_ by the idea of a date.”

 

“Hey,” Stiles says, raising his hands in surrender. “I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

 

“That you’re the kind of guy who goes around asking out werewolves?”

 

“That I’m the kind of guy who goes around asking out _anyone_.”

 

“A shy hunter? Uncommon.”

 

“Not shy, just painfully awkward. And anyway, I think we already established I’m not your average hunter.”

 

“So maybe you _would_ date a werewolf, then.”

 

Derek’s face is totally unreadable, and Stiles seriously cannot tell if he’s fucking with him again.

 

“Is a werewolf asking?”

 

Stiles doesn’t see _why_ he would. He ran the man over, for God’s sake.

 

Then again, Derek must’ve been able to hear Stiles was telling the truth this whole time, and he _did_ see what Stiles is really like last night. If he was the kind of hunter who wanted Derek dead, it would already be over.

 

It’s also possible he can smell the low-grade attraction Stiles has likely been radiating this whole time.

 

“As long as you’re really not a typical hunter,” Derek says, shrugging. “Something about you… My wolf side likes you.”

 

Could that _seriously_ be why he came over here?

 

“After last night?” Stiles asks, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

 

“Exactly—that’s saying something. And if my wolf likes you so much, I figure I should give you a chance.”

 

Stiles has never even heard of full shift werewolves before, so he’s not quite sure how this works.

 

“How’s your _human_ side feel?”

 

“I think you’re oddly charismatic,” Derek says, looking amused. “You care about animals, and people, and weirdly, werewolves. And I’ll tell you what else I think if you feel like going out.”

 

“Very smooth,” Stiles jokes, even though it _totally is_. “I’ll see you there, then.”

 

He can’t imagine all the shit he’s gonna get from Scott over this.

 

Stiles has _always_ teased him about dating a hunter.

 

“Good,” Derek says. “So… dinner and a peace treaty tonight?”

 

It’s not quite Netflix and chill, but Stiles’ life hasn’t been that simple in a while.

 

“It’s a date,” he says, smiling at him. “Drop by here at six, I’ll show you my favorite restaurant in town.”

 

“You can give me directions there,” Derek says, smirking. “It might be a while before I trust you in the driver’s seat.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a _year_ since I've posted a one shot, so here's my attempt to get back into it! I hope you enjoyed, and kudos and comments are always appreciated  <3
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [stilesbansheequeen](http://stilesbansheequeen.tumblr.com/)!


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